


Five Times Gerry Slipped Towards The Lonely And One Time He Was Dragged Forcibly Away

by thehaikubandit



Series: Memento Mori (Friendship is Keay) [8]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: If you need it, Lukas leave our boy alone, also featuring a load of metal venue ocs, and gier's stolen metal knowledge, and ro's bathbomb obsession, breakdown induced hair choices, can you blame him?, can't believe it took us this long, it's our first five plus one!, someone hug Gerry he is not okay, someone is also sick, sorry - Freeform, the timeline jumps around a little, there's also a lot of crying, warning for alcohol and getting drunk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:54:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23542696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thehaikubandit/pseuds/thehaikubandit
Summary: The title pretty much sums this one up. We hope you like it?
Relationships: Georgie Barker & Gerard Keay, Martin Blackwood & Gerard Keay
Series: Memento Mori (Friendship is Keay) [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1647388
Comments: 36
Kudos: 158





	Five Times Gerry Slipped Towards The Lonely And One Time He Was Dragged Forcibly Away

**One**

“I need to talk to you all,” Gerry said to Melanie. “It’s important. Get everyone together for me?”

“You got out of hospital two hours ago,” she said. “And _you_ got to come back. Give us some time to fucking grieve before you decide to raise the possibility of another apocalypse or some bullshit like that.”

“Oh, that’s going to happen, but this isn’t about that.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Look. I’m still trying to work out having control of moving these damn limbs. Can you not make it any harder and just do this?”

The look Melanie gave him was nearly enough to knock him out of Jon’s body.

“Please,” said Gerry.

Maybe it was her paranoia or anger that made her do it, but whatever the motivation, Melanie, Martin and Basira were in Gertrude’s – no, it was Jon’s now, or was it his? Whatever. They were in the Archivist’s office before five minutes had passed.

“Right,” said Gerry. “There’s no easy way to say this so I’m going to be blunt. I’m not Jon.”

Melanie slammed him into the desk and had a knife to his throat before he could continue.

“Wait!” shouted Martin. “Melanie!”

Gerry kicked her right leg aside and slipped from under her, the knife cutting a thin scratch across Jon’s throat.

“Let. Me. Finish,” he said, moving quickly to put the desk between them. He cursed the fact that he didn’t know how to fight in this body yet.

Basira put a hand on Melanie’s shoulder.

“It’s bleeding,” she said. “It’s human enough to bleed. So let’s take a second to listen.”

“I’m not Jon,” Gerry said again. “But Jon is still here. My name is Gerard Keay.”

“The goth with the bad hair?” asked Martin. His voice was high and slightly panicked.

“Well that’s bloody rude,” said Gerry.

“You’re in the statements.”

“Huh, figures. Well let’s say yes then. My name is Gerard Keay and until a few weeks ago I was dead. I was trapped in a book. Jon found the book and spoke to me in America. The deal was to destroy it and free me. He did something stupid – ”

Melanie muttered something like “of course he did” under her breath. Gerry ignored her.

“– And I ended up in his head,” he continued. “But until the Unknowing he couldn’t hear me. The explosion happened. I woke up. He didn’t. The end.”

There was silence.

“You say that he’s still here,” said Basira, slowly. “Explain?”

Gerry told them what he could and tried to pass the tests they threw at him. Eventually they believed him, or seemed to. And that was somehow worse. Because Basira pulled Melanie away and he was left with Martin. Martin, who made his heart beat a little faster due to Jon’s reflexes alone. Martin, who Gerry had come to know over the month he’d been stuck watching through Jon’s eyes. Martin, who at this moment, looked completely blank.

“Martin,” Gerry began.

“Excuse me,” Martin’s voice was no longer high or anxious. It was a voice empty of any emotion. He left.

Gerry stood alone behind the desk and sank slowly into the chair. He’d been honest with them, and hopefully that would count in his favour.

_They might come around,_ he thought, desperately. _In time._

For now, he waited, behind the desk of the woman who’d been his mother, or nearer to it than anyone else, for all she’d skinned him. The desk he knew she’d been shot at. He sat shakily in the chair and tried to start piecing together what the hell he was going to do next.

**Two**

Gerry needed to adjust to a lot after the Unknowing. The mechanical stuff took time; remembering how to walk, the amount of force he needed to lift things, what it felt like to be hungry or tired… It took a few more cups of tea than he would have liked before he stopped throwing it in his own face. The fact that Jon was also shorter than he’d been didn’t help things, and God, was the man unfit. Gerry missed being able to run up a flight of stairs or move the heavier boxes of statements without running out of breath. Or being able to reach something without a stepladder…

But the basic art of existing was nothing compared to the mental unease he felt in Jon’s body. Which led him to today, desperately trying to justify spending money he didn’t own on his old coat. Well, not _his_ old coat, but one very much like it. At least the rest of the clothes he’d found in charity shops, so they hadn’t been nearly this expensive.

_What do you think Jon?_ _Do you mind? It’s not like you ever spend any of your pay on anything fun._

There was silence, of course. At least that wasn’t unusual. Gerry was used to Jon ignoring him. If he kept up the talk maybe he could pretend that it was fine, that Jon was watching _him_ and they’d just swapped roles. He wasn’t though. If Gerry concentrated, he could feel the cold fog of Naomi Herne’s memory wrapping around him.

He ignored that. Lying to himself was easier. It was amazing how fast you could get used to sharing a mind with someone. And how much it hurt when that was taken away.

He missed Jon. He missed his bitter, snarking comments and his terrible sense of humour. He missed the way that Jon got flustered whenever Gerry told him he was staring at Martin, especially because he’d convinced himself that Gerry was part of his Beholding thing and therefore right. And oh God, he couldn’t even think about Martin…

_Fuck it, speak now or forever hold your peace._

Shockingly there was no answer. Gerry bought the coat. The way back to the Institute took him past a Boots. He caught his reflection in the window and paused.

_How do you feel about covering up some of this old man hair?_

Again, no answer.

_Alright. Can’t complain when you wake up if you don’t say anything._

He didn’t think about what would happen if Jon failed to wake up.

_Red, purple or black?_

Again, no answer. Gerry was left alone, staring at a wall of hair-dye. He tried to think what colour Jon would like best but there was nothing there, only the fog again. Gerry wasn’t sure why Jon was back at Naomi already, but he worried if he pried too deeply, he’d end up unconscious on the shitty flooring.

So, he didn’t push it, and bought what he needed quickly without even bothering to pause his music during the transaction. He left with a box of disposable gloves and the hair-dye. It wouldn’t be the first time he did his hair in the Institute showers.

_If you wake up while I’m dying your hair red and panic, this isn’t on me._

**Three**

Gerry walked into the tearoom rubbing his forehead. Fuck, he needed a coffee. Staying in the Archives wasn’t exactly conducive to a good night’s rest, and the fact he’d been up reading statements on the Slaughter instead of sleeping, probably hadn’t helped. The moment he walked into the room, Martin nearly walked into him on his way out.

“Morning.”

Martin ignored him. No surprise there. It had been two weeks and he still hadn’t said a word. Gerry supposed that his new appearance wasn’t helping matters.

As he grabbed a mug and filled it with the terrible instant coffee that he wished he didn’t remember, he noticed that the kettle was already boiling. And there were three mugs with teabags in them on the side. With the milk next to them.

Oh. Well. Martin really mustn’t have wanted to be around him.

_I can’t blame him. I can’t be easy to see around the place._

But it hurt. He missed having Martin bring him tea, well, bring Jon tea. He just wanted to hear about the research he’d been doing, or a dog he’d seen on the way into the Institute. Anything.

The fact that he was making tea for Basira and Melanie, but not him, also hurt. He wondered what Martin’s coffee would taste like.

_Maybe he can make even this Institute rubbish taste good._

Gerry decided not to make coffee and emptied it back into the tin. He didn’t want to use the water that Martin was boiling.

_It’s fine. The cafe down the street does better coffee anyway. And I could get breakfast._

So, he left, pulling his new coat close as he went outside. He felt cold. Winter must be coming early. But the cafe wasn’t any warmer. He ordered a long black and a muffin, hands tucked into his pockets.

_Don’t they care that it’s freezing in here?_

Gerry’s morning got worse on walking back into the Archives. He saw Martin again before he quickly stood and walked off into the shelves. The cold got colder.

Even walking into the Archivist’s office didn’t bring any relief. Well, that explained that.

“Lukas.”

“Gerard.”

“What the fuck do you want?”

“Now is that any way to speak to your new boss?”

“So fire me. Or isn’t that what your, what is he now? Ex? Husband? Isn’t that what Elias wants?”

Peter’s smile was far too pleased for Gerry’s liking. He ignored his comment.

“Feeling cold this morning?”

“It’s almost winter,” Gerry said through gritted teeth. “That tends to happen.”

“Of course.”

“Back to my point, what the fuck do you want?”

“Just here to check in on my new staff. Make sure you’re all feeling comfortable after the change in leadership.”

“We’re fine. Goodbye.”

Peter didn’t reply, just walked away, still smiling.

Gerry sat down and sipped at his coffee. It didn’t help with the cold or the headache. Maybe he’d record a statement, that might be the breakfast he actually needed.

**Four**

There is a lot that can be said about the rent in London, and the size of what you’re going to get for anything less than the soul of your first-born child. Most of this has already been said. Suffice to say that Georgie’s kitchen was… cosy. It was open to the lounge and didn’t feel tiny, but if more than one person was cooking it could become a bit of a dance.

At present there were three people cooking, though two of these were sharing the body of a small man and one was asleep. The Admiral made the whole thing more exciting by weaving through their ankles.

“Can you stir this while I slice some bread?” asked Georgie.

The warm smell of minestrone filled the kitchen.

“Sure,” said Gerry. He moved to take over from her. When he did so, Georgie’s hand met his on the spoon, and she brushed past his side as she walked away from the stove.

Gerry wasn’t fully aware of the noise he made at that moment, but Georgie was. It was something she’d associate more with the Admiral, half-purr, half-whine. All Gerry knew was it felt like he’d been punched violently in the stomach, overwhelmed by the absence of something he didn’t realise was missing.

“Gerry?”

It took him a moment to process that Georgie was speaking to him.

“Are you alright?”

“I – fine. I’m going out. We need more cheese, right? I’m going to buy cheese.”

Before Georgie could say anything else, Gerry was gone.

He breathed the cold night air in gratefully and lit a cigarette with shaking hands. He was _fine_ , he told himself. He’d managed for years without much physical contact. It was nicer without it. Maybe this was Jon’s fault. Maybe Jon was leaking into him again. Anyway, it wasn’t really his body. He should avoid people touching him until Jon woke up. Consent and all that...

Gerry was glad that the streets seemed empty. The last thing he needed at the moment was having to deal with other people. When he arrived at the nearest Tesco, it was a shock to see anyone else. Gerry missed his old body then. People were a hell of a lot less likely to interact with him when he looked like a threat. For all he’d dressed them in clothes that felt familiar, Jon was thin enough to cut you, and shorter than he’d been. Someone smiled at him as they walked out of the Tesco. Nothing special, just that little “hey fellow person” smile, but that was all it took. He carried on without buying anything, sticking to the safety of the night.

Gerry didn’t know how long he spent walking after that, but Georgie was asleep when he got back. He sighed with relief at managing to avoid talking to her about what had happened, and why he’d taken hours to fail to buy cheese.

Curling himself tightly into a ball in Georgie’s spare bed, he fell into a restless sleep.

**Five**

“Fuck you,” Gerry said to his computer screen. Specifically, the email on it from Peter Lukas. “Fuck you and fuck this.”

Which went some way to explaining why Gerry left work an hour early and found himself getting dressed to go out. He picked out some of the nicer clothes he’d bought and painted his nails, waiting just long enough for them to dry before he left Georgie’s flat for Camden.

The Underworld was a venue that Gerry used to attend whenever time or money allowed for it. They usually had decent bands playing, and tonight seemed promising. He grinned at the guy on the door, his name was Hayden, Gerry remembered. He’d had far too many conversations with him late at night while he was smoking outside.

“Hey Hayden,” said Gerry.

Hayden frowned slightly but gave him a polite nod.

“ID?”

He couldn’t remember the last time Hayden had bothered to check. Gerry opened his mouth to ask if he was joking before remembering. And that hit like a freight train. Oh. He stopped smiling and handed over Jon’s ID, suddenly cold. Hayden squinted at the old, non-pierced, grey haired Jon. But he let him in.

“Fuck this,” muttered Gerry under his breath. “I’m going to have _fun_.”

He headed to the bar. Tasha was working, and a new guy Gerry didn’t know. Once again, she didn’t recognise him. He swallowed down the beer he ordered quickly in the hope that it would fill the empty, hollow feeling in his stomach. This was going to be fine. It was going to be a nice night of prog and power metal. That always managed to cheer him up.

By the time the band started, and they _were_ good, Gerry felt numb. He kept seeing people he knew. And none of them recognised him. No one.

_I’m. Going. To. Have. Fun._

And oh, did he try to lose himself in the throbbing movement of the crowd. Even for a weeknight and a smaller band the energy was great. But it just made him feel more apart from it. And Jon’s body wasn’t used moving the same way his would have been.

Giving up, he pushed his way out for a cigarette.

“I like your coat.” It was Tasha.

“Thanks,” he said, keeping his eyes straight ahead. She didn’t know him. He wasn’t himself anymore. He felt more alone than if he’d stayed in and done nothing. Or just stayed back and kept working all night.

“My friend used to have one really similar,” Tasha continued. “He was worse at dying his hair than you though.”

“Cool.” He was numb by now.

_Maybe I should leave. What the hell is the point?_

“Is this your first time here?” asked Tasha. “I haven’t seen you round before. And I’d remember the coat...”

_Yep,_ definitely _not in the mood for flirting._

“Something like that. Night.”

He ground out his cigarette and left, not bothering to stay for the rest of the show. Instead he walked all the way back to Georgie’s flat. By the time he got there he was shaking with cold. He told himself that it was just from the walk. The fact that he still felt it after a warm shower was just one more thing he chose to ignore.

**\+ One**

Gerry woke early that morning and wasn’t sure why until he looked at his phone and saw the date.

_Oh. Right. Fuck._

He left the flat before Georgie woke, leaving a note to say he had a lot of work to do and he’d be back late, if at all. She’d made him devise a system in case he was kidnapped again. It was only fair he used it, she didn’t need to worry about losing Jon’s body.

At this time of the morning he managed to avoid the worst of the Tube. That was good, he didn’t need to deal with all those people today.

Making himself a cup of shitty, instant coffee, Gerry grabbed a pile of statements and shut himself in Jon’s office with a tape recorder.

_If I’m recording, they’ll leave me the fuck alone._

It worked. He listened carefully between the sentences he read for movement and heard the two of them come in. Martin wasn’t in the office anymore, Peter had him doing admin, so that was one less person to avoid. When Basira mentioned going out for some fieldwork and did Melanie want to come? Gerry nearly cried with relief. But he didn’t. He. Wouldn’t. Cry.

The statements had the bonus of keeping the hunger at bay, but he snuck out occasionally to use the toilet or get more coffee. Not that he was sneaking. He was just… feeling anti-social.

At about half five, Gerry decided it was late enough he could justify it and retrieved a bottle of vodka that he’d hidden in a filing cabinet. He poured some of it into his coffee mug, not bothering to rinse it first. It wasn’t like the taste mattered. He drank it too fast, hoping it would shift some of the cold from his chest. And then, when it didn’t, he drank a little more.

Martin found him a few hours later, sitting on the floor beside the filing cabinet in the Archivist’s office, knees pulled up to his chest. He couldn’t feel his – _their_ fingers or toes anymore, and he wasn’t sure if this was the vodka or the cold. He rested _their_ head against the wall, tears still making their way down _their_ face despite the fact _their_ eyes were closed.

“Gerry!”

He didn’t say anything, but he did open his eyes.

“’m fine,” he slurred. “G-go away.”

“No,” said Martin. “You, you don’t seem to be.”

Gerry closed his eyes again. He felt the mug removed from his fingers and made a soft, keening sound.

“No, I think you’ve had enough of that. Come on, stand up.”

Gerry forced his eyes open as Martin pulled him to his feet. The hand around his upper arm felt shockingly warm.

“Okay,” said Martin gently. “Let’s… let’s get your coat and get you back to Georgie’s.”

“It’s f-f-fine,” said Gerry. And fuck, why couldn’t he speak? He didn’t know if it was the vodka, the cold or the tears. He sniffed, trying to stop them.

“I, I don’t think you staying here is the best idea tonight. And Georgie’s is a bit closer than mine.”

Gerry let Martin put his coat on him and lead him outside. In all of this, Martin’s hand had slipped into his and the contact was making it harder not to cry. He must have looked a mess. What did his face look like when it’d been crying anyway?

He didn’t remember getting back to Georgie’s, only that the hand was there, and then it was taken away. And they were, stepping out of a cab? That explained some of it at least.

“Hi, Georgie?”

“Martin?”

“I’ve got Gerry with me. I… don’t think he’s well. Can we come up?”

“I’ll buzz you now, are you okay to get up the stairs?”

“I’ve got him.”

Gerry once again felt that warmth in their hand. It felt like the only real thing in the world.

“Gerry?”

Georgie was there, but he could barely see her through the tears. He tried to speak but the words wouldn’t come out.

“I found him drinking vodka on the floor of the Archives.”

“Oh fuck.”

“You sw-sw-swore,” he told Georgie, teeth chattering slightly. “J-j-jar.”

“That’s for you, not for me,” said Georgie. “I’m not the one who swore at a child.”

“T-t...”

“Yes, I know he was a tall child. We’re not doing this now. Get him to the sofa.”

That last part must have been to Martin, because now he was sitting on the sofa and his hand was cold and empty again, but now he had warm knees? Oh. Georgie was kneeling in front of them, hands on his legs.

“Gerry,” she said. “What happened?”

“N-nothing, ‘s jus’ cold.”

“Hmmm.” She put a hand on his head, their head, and Gerry cried out at how nice it felt.

“You don’t feel that cold...” said Georgie.

Martin swore then.

“J-jar!”

“It’s the Lonely,” said Martin to Georgie. “He’s…well, Peter makes things feel colder. Sometimes.”

“Can we know for sure? You said he died of cancer. If this is medical and we don’t get him the help he needs...” she trailed off, the words “then Jon dies” went unspoken. But Gerry knew they were there. He knew who they were worried for.

“’m s-sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?” asked Martin. “What happened?”

But he couldn’t reply.

“Gerry,” Martin said. “Does it feel better if I, um, touch you?” He gently picked up Jon’s hand and ran a thumb along the back of it. Gerry let out a keening sound at that. If he hadn’t been so cold, so drunk, he might have been ashamed to have made that noise.

“Alright,” said Georgie, making a decision. “We’re going to try and warm you up our way, and if that doesn’t work, I’m calling 999. Let’s start with a bath.”

The steam from the bath was too close to fog for comfort, but Martin held his hand tightly all throughout the noise of running water.

“I should go,” Martin said to Georgie. “He’s going to need to be… Well, it doesn’t feel right.”

Gerry made a noise of protest and held Martin’s hand tighter. He didn’t want Martin to go.

“It’s fine,” said Georgie. “I’ve got a bathbomb for him, the water’s going to be dark in a minute.”

“I...” Martin sighed. “Alright.”

Gerry didn’t notice him looking pointedly away while Georgie undressed him and helped him into the water. He was too busy missing Martin’s hand.

“Here,” said Georgie. “Smell this.”

The scent of rose filled the air. It cleared his head a little; cut through the scent of the sea and of thick grave dirt.

“I got this for you a while ago,” Georgie continued.

_You got it for Jon._

“It’s the gothest bath bomb I could find, I thought you might like it.”

_Well, that’s not right. Jon’s not a goth._

_Oh…_

The fizzing of the bath bomb blended with the sound of Georgie and Martin speaking. Gerry closed his eyes and breathed in the floral scent. He felt someone’s hands in his hair, someone’s hand on his arm.

By the time the water grew cold he’d come back to himself, now only slightly drunk.

“Thank you,” he whispered, interrupting a story that Georgie was telling. Something about a man who was convinced his house was haunted by a gang of sickly Victorian orphans?

“You’re welcome,” said Martin and Georgie together.

“Ready to come out?” asked Georgie.

“Yes.” He opened his eyes.

She helped him stand and dried him off.

“Wait here,” she said, leaving him wrapped in the towel. Martin was sat on the toilet, politely facing the wall.

“I’m covered in glitter,” Gerry informed him, since he couldn’t see. He amused himself a little, wiggling his toes and seeing how they shone.

Martin laughed at that.

“Good for you?”

“Yes.”

Georgie reappeared.

“Alright,” she said. “These aren’t quite your aesthetic but they’re softer than what you have, so deal with it.”

She handed him an old What the Ghost shirt and a pair of pyjama bottoms covered in tiny cats. Gerry loved them, even though the trousers were almost too long and a little loose.

“Now,” said Georgie. “Are you feeling better?”

“Yes,” said Gerry. “Just… um...”

“Um?”

“...I might be drunk?”

He hiccupped, as if on cue.

“That’s a fair assessment,” said Georgie solemnly, politely trying not to laugh. “So long as that’s all it is.”

“He did have rather a lot of vodka,” said Martin.

“I’m sorry...”

“Well,” said Georgie. “Here’s how you’re going to make it up to us. We’re going to all go lie down, or sit on the sofa, and you’re going to explain why you ended up drunk and freezing.”

“The… lying down sounds nice.”

She made him drink some water first.

Martin helped him onto Georgie’s bed and Gerry wriggled under the duvet. Soon he had Georgie on one side and Martin on the other. It was a bit of a squeeze in the double bed, but it felt amazing to have them both so close. And it was better than trying to fit them both on the single, spare bed.

“Could,” Gerry hesitated.

“What?” asked Martin.

“Could we turn the light off?”

“I’ll get it,” said Georgie.

She was gone, but then there was darkness and Gerry felt her beside him again.

“So,” said Georgie. “What happened?”

“If you can talk about it,” Martin hastened to add.

“I… it’s stupid.”

“If it’s done this, it isn’t stupid,” said Martin.

There was a long pause.

“It’s my birthday,” Gerry said in a voice so quiet he didn’t know if they’d be able to hear him.

“I thought that was in… Oh...” said Martin.

“It doesn’t matter. It’s just. I don’t know. It never mattered before. This is stupid.”

“It isn’t,” said Georgie. “You’re allowed to feel things.”

And it all poured out of him then. All the lonely, empty feelings he’d been shoving down for months. And he couldn’t stop it and oh no he was crying again and he’d get tears and snot on Georgie’s nice sheets and so she was gone again and then there was light and she’d handed him a tissue and oh he must have been saying that out loud.

They held him close until he stopped. He drifted to sleep feeling warm and alive and definitely not alone.

When Gerry woke up, it was to the Admiral curled on one shoulder, Martin’s arm around his waist and Georgie’s leg pressed close beside his, his bare toes on her calf. The night came back to him in pieces and he cringed. He should probably get up and make them breakfast for putting up with him. Or at the very least brush his teeth.

“Morning,” mumbled Martin into his shoulder, the one without the Admiral on it.

“Morning.”

“Shhh,” said Georgie.

“Mrrrp,” said the Admiral.

“Oh, now you’ve done it,” grumbled Georgie. “He thinks it’s breakfast time.”

Gerry laughed and immediately reassessed his earlier plan of cooking, and food in general.

“Oh no-”

He just made it to the bathroom before he was sick. Georgie stood in the doorway looking down at him when he was finished.

“Better?”

“Ugh.”

“Next time,” she said. “Save yourself the hangover and come to us first.”

“Yeah,” said Martin, coming up beside her, a glass of water in his hand. “We’re your friends. That’s how it works.”

He handed the water to Gerry who rinsed out his mouth before drinking the rest of it.

“I will,” he said. And he was surprised to find that he meant it.

**Author's Note:**

> As always thanks to Gier, Bird and Space. You guys are amazing and this wouldn't be a thing without you all! 
> 
> I really hope you liked this one, it was one of the first things I wrote for FiK and I'm so excited to finally share it with you. May you all have wonderful friends and nice, soft comfort in these chaotic times <3


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